


a messy portrait (of who I long to be)

by Jazer



Series: Destroy the middle, it's a waste of space [4]
Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character Study, Child Neglect, Drawing as Therapy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fubuki ends up being the most oblivious for some reason, Gen, Ginjirou loves poetry and he can recite his fav poems from memory, Gouenji is there for the cookies and the drama, I CAN FINALLY USE A SHIP TAG FOR THEM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Itetsuki loves Hyouga so much it leads Hyouga to believe they're Very Good Friends(tm), Kitaki is a Good Friend, Kou is the best bro, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nana is the best cat, Parental Fubuki Shirou, Parental Gouenji Shuuya, Suicidal Thoughts, Yukimura Hyouga - centric, and hugs, coconut cookies by Miyuki, depressive episodes, does it count if Itetsuki just calls him lover at some point and Hyouga combusts?, gratuitous amount of cuddles, in case someone wants to know the author behind the poem mentioned in this fic, it all ends well it was just be projecting onto the characters, it's me i made it up on the spot, kind of, mentions of God's Eden, re-learning how to love, she doesn't appear much but this information is important, spoiler: Itetsuki would literally sell his heart for Hyouga, there are some intrusive thoughts so beware, unconventional use of Avatars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer
Summary: Not everything is perfect - that doesn't mean we don't try to make it. It doesn't mean, that after years of trying, we suddenly feel like we're enough.Sometimes, it takes us a moment, a while, to realize that just like anyone else, you have to learn how to breathe, how to walk and talk, and in some cases - how to love and be loved.(Or: a fourth part of "look around", where Itetsuki Touma speaks of love using a language Yukimura Hyouga has to re-learn.)
Relationships: Fubuki Shirou & Yukimura Hyouga, Fubuki Shirou/Gouenji Shuuya, Gouenji Shuuya & Yukimura Hyouga, Itetsuki Touma & Yukimura Hyouga, Itetsuki Touma/Yukimura Hyouga, Yukimura Hyouga & Original Character(s)
Series: Destroy the middle, it's a waste of space [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1208088
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. 1. tomorrow's empty canvas

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely self indulgent because I am Longing and Yearning myself, but thanks to all people who expressed their desire to see this ship sail (you all know who you are) because that Validates me.
> 
> And yes, I am Aware that I filled their tags myself, singlehandedly. And yes, I am Aware that I technically made up Itetsuki's whole personality. No, I don't take criticism on that. Please help, it's past midnight and this is the second time I'm typing this out. 
> 
> (Title taken from Complication, Durarara!! english opening by KEH)

He is a boy born running. He is a wind, and he is the sky, but most of the time, when the night is chill and his bones hurt – he is nothing.

His legs cannot carry him where he wants to go, and since his house was never a home, he never learned where else to go, either. His mouth doesn’t work like it used to and his throat is tight and scratchy from disuse.

 _Oh, how wonderful it would be to disappear like this_ , he thinks.

How easy it would be to snap this tread of life. Such small and insignificant person he was, wasn’t he? He was a painting half-finished, a pencil half-sharpened. He is, but a tiny portion of what he could be and when the day ends, and the night begins, he wonders if he will ever find the other half.

Maybe he’s not meant to find it. Maybe it’s supposed to be a never-ending struggle. Maybe he’s supposed to suffer.

Maybe—

Hm.

Well. It’s not like Yukimura Hyouga was ever good at this poetry stuff. He likes to think that he’s got it nailed down – like a champ, obviously – but whenever he gets into the tangles in his head, whenever he tries to straighten them out to make them comprehensible, they twist even more. Until there’s a jumbled mess and nothing else.

You know, for such a “composed” and “responsible” kid, Hyouga feels pretty much like a mess.

The grades that honored him felt more like a decoration and he felt more stupid than smart. The pretty drawings he once finished burned in front of his eyes. Hyouga’s own soul, once a bright and kind thing, flickered each time he closed his eyes.

Does he deserve the things he has now?

Does he get to eat and sleep, and be the kid he’s always wanted to be? Does he get to be worthy of anything?

Well. Miyuki would totally disagree with him. She would say a person cannot decide their worth, that it’s not up to them to decide. Fubuki would try to answer with a question on his own, maybe because he’s been through a lot to know that there really isn’t a right or wrong answer.

Gouenji, though—

“Someone’s worth? Isn’t it obvious?” at Hyouga’s look, he continued, “It starts when you love yourself, and ends when you stop. Truth be told, whatever ‘worth’ you see in yourself will always be different than the ‘worth’ someone may place on you.”

Which is, yeah.

It’s like Gouenji Shuuya, alright.

* * *

Hyouga’s first memory is of his birthday. He doesn’t know how old he was then, and he doesn’t remember at what point his birthday stopped being celebrated altogether. What he knows, is that in that memory his mother gifted him an art kit. With colored pencils, markers and erasers.

And she’s said, “I hope you grow up to be like me.”

Hyouga sits in his room and looks at the drawings he’s tore apart. The papers dig into his palms and smudge the lines. They are old things, almost yellowed from years of sitting at the bottom of his drawer, but they’re there and they—

They burn into his mind. His mother’s voice use to be kind of soothing. Or at least it was back in the memory. Her teeth didn’t form a razor sharp grin, and her eyes didn’t look like ice. When he sees the figures on the paper, he’s painfully reminded of her.

And that’s why he hates art.

Art, where Hyouga has to stifle a sob at his father’s ruler on his fingers. Art, where imperfect means wrong, where any mistake is enough to make his parents ignore him. Once upon a time, Kotone – his aunt – visited their place and smiled and laughed, and joked how art is the reason she’s still alive. She told him of her exhibitions. She told him of the way her brush glides across canvas.

And Hyouga doesn’t remember when she disappeared. He does know she married and never looked back.

He only recalls being envious. Her hands weren’t red and crooked from setting wrong after a peculiar hit to his fingers. Her eyes weren’t dark from memories Hyouga would gladly get rid of. Most of all, he was envious of the way she smiled about it.

“I love it,” she’s said, “I hope you can grow up liking it, too.”

Even though the words still didn’t make him feel better back then, they sounded different than his mother’s. It was Kotone’s way of saying that she hopes he can find peace in drawing like she did. There were no expectations on her side.

To find joy in such simple job. To find happiness in bringing something alive with a pencil, brush, graphite.

He wants it. He craves it. He wants to search desperately for something his parents took from him, he wants to look around and see the beauty that was taken from him. Whatever that means, whatever it takes, Hyouga will take it.

And so, he digs out the old sketchbook Kotone sent him once. He opens the page and winces, because even looking at the paper hurts, bringing bad memories. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

 _It’s me,_ he thinks, _they can’t take who I am._

He raises the pencil to the page.

* * *

Here’s the thing about Gouenji Shuuya.

The man has a steady presence around himself that not even Hyouga thinks he can break or hide away from. It’s not Fubuki’s quiet and barely there aura ( although, it is pretty close in comparison) and it’s not even like Kou’s unyielding support. And no matter how hard Hyouga tries to describe it, all words fall short of his usual vocabulary.

So he deals it as best as he can. He lets the man hang around him whenever he feels up for a small talk; he lets him make him laugh at some really, really dry jokes and he doesn’t bat an eye when the man snuggles into Fubuki’s side (even though Gouenji always knows that Hyouga is around, because for some reason, Hyouga has yet to learn how to sneak past him).

It’s come to the point where Gouenji is as much of a part of his life as Fubuki and so—

And so Hyouga now has to work out a solution for the man’s sudden involvement in his life, as well. It’s not bad enough that Gouenji already (kind of) feels like another role model to him (he still hates his guts, obviously) and wormed his way to his heart (soul, whatever, _he still hates_ the Holy Emperor).

Because loving people—

Because letting people, it often turns out painful. If not because they mess something, then because he does something that makes them think he’s worthless. It’s happened with his aunt before, it’s happened with his parents, and it will happen again and again, because—

That’s how it is, isn’t it?

You love something and it breaks you. That’s how he grew up thinking. It’s a bit hard to unlearn it and understand that it’s just something that happened not because it was necessarily his fault but because people around made it true.

He wishes he could erase those memories. Of hurt, of feeling abandoned. Of feeling miserable and stepped over.

Well—

“Oi, Yukimura! You’re lagging behind again!”

“Get off him, Itetsuki!” someone else yells and it’s only then that Hyouga finally moves up from his light walk to jogging, “You’re on his ass since this morning!”

He wants to thank whoever it was that stood up for him against Itetsuki’s tendencies that either border on mother-henning or straight up bullying, but then he realizes that there must be a reason why it’s Hyouga on his radar again, so he—

He kind of tilts his head at them when he’s next to his team and says, “Yeah, Itetsuki-san, I’d say you’re once again being mean to me.”

“Mean to me, he says, the ass,” Itetsuki mutters under his breath, crossing his arms and glaring at him, as if Hyouga dropped his new phone on the ground again, “If you’re gonna slack off, just stay home.”

At the mention of home, Hyouga looks away and _oh_. There it is, the itch inside of his chest that reminds him that he has yet to find the definition of home that would fit in his life now. Back then, it was about any place where he could play soccer; where he could get his hands on his violin or knitting supplies.

But all that is burned, or lost, or thrown out just because. How does he go home where the only house that’s supposed to feel like one is more like a suffocating space, just there to suck out any happiness that’s left in him?

He can go and pretend that Fubuki cares, and he can fool himself long enough to think that he’s always welcome, but even with all the reassurance from the man himself, it doesn’t change the fact that Gouenji kind of moved in and Hyouga still has to go back to his parents.

Back to them, indeed. And the show—

“Right,” he forces out, trying for an indifferent tone but judging by the sharp glance at him from Itetsuki, he’s done a poor job, “You know, I think I’ll actually do that.”

“No, wait, Yukimura—“ He reaches out his hand to him and Hyouga looks at it for a long, long time, smile fading and cracking at the edges, before he turns around.

He doesn’t see the look on Itetsuki’s face.

* * *

_I want to die, I want to die, I want to—_

Hyouga smacks the notebooks off his desk, he throws his jacket on the floor and then he kicks the backpack to the very far side of the room and he heaves, so suddenly and so forcefully that he falls down onto his knees next to his bed and—

There’s a sob, there’s a hitched breath and his Mother’s steps next to his door. He holds his breath, feels himself choking and then, when he thinks she’s going to come in, the steps retreat and he’s alone again.

_I wonder how long it will take for me to fall down and out of the window?_

He takes his pillow and stares at it, stomach rolling and hands clenching into the material. There’s something behind his eyes and he realizes that tears start to slide down his cheeks. He hides his face into the pillow and breathes.

And then he screams. It’s muffled and choked. Barely anything is heard.

He cries and cries, and he wants to close his eyes and never open them again to the sight of the four unfeeling walls. He wants to take a jump off the window and he wants to live till he’s twenty to see if that desire changes into something else.

Most of all—

Most of all, he just wants to stop feeling so pathetic.

His Mother doesn’t come upstairs after that. His father barely looks at him when Hyouga comes down to take some food with him. There’s no acknowledgement. There’s no love, no affection, there’s not even a cold glance at him.

There’s nothing.

_How is it that it hurts so much when there’s no wound? How is it that I long to stop feeling when for the longest of time I wanted to just feel anything, something in this freezing world?_

He takes one glance at his room. It’s a mess. It’s disgusting. The homework that’s due tomorrow sits on his bed, half-done and probably done wrong. There are dirty clothes and papers scattered all on the floor.

His eyes sting again.

He turns around, he takes his jacket from where he flung it and he drapes it over his shoulders. A sob tries to push past his lips. His hands clench in the pockets. His breath hitches again, and the sound that leaves his lips is cut off when he nears the door.

There’s no reason for this heavy feeling to overwhelm him. Nothing is hurting him, the situation is better than ever and his parents aren’t there to yell at him, or harm him, or anything at all. Whatever’s inside his chest burns anyways, and when he raises his hands to claw at the skin he realizes that he cannot get rid of it, even if he’d want to.

It’s not really there. No agony like this would ever be physical.

Therefore, Hyouga can’t reason with it. Can’t make it stop. Can’t make it disappear.

 _It was better_ , he thinks desperately pushing through the weather of Hokkaido, _it was getting so much better, why am I still like this—?_

Living, Hyouga finds when the wind blows right into his face and dries the tear tracks on his cheeks, is supposed to be like riding a boat. It’s going to sway on the waves, and it will take an effort to move it forwards.

He closes his eyes when he reaches the familiar cat café. He can’t feel his face, or his hands, or his legs. It’s all numb and he wonders if it’s really only because of the weather.

* * *

There’s numbness and then, there’s the lingering anxiety underneath his ribs and the fear in his mind that forces him to act in ways he doesn’t ever want to act. The jumpiness and the flinching – all those habits that he’s thought he’d gotten rid of before, they all come back.

All at once. All or nothing at all. Hyouga wishes he were a plant, because then he would just wait to wither and die, and then wait to be reborn with a new face, new name, new everything. He wouldn’t feel like there are fingers ripping his skin apart, he wouldn’t feel the needles in his bones, he wouldn’t feel—

Ah.

“Yukimura?” Koori tries to wave his hand in front of his face and Hyouga tiredly drags his eyes from the window of the classroom to look at him, “You coming to practice, right? Gouenji-san is assisting today.”

Soccer.

 _How funny_ , Hyouga’s mind whispers, _you’ve grown to hate soccer because you’re bored of it, or have you finally grown bored of pretending to be good at it?_ The voice suspiciously sounds like his mother’s sweet-talking tone.

He wants to grasp the ball and kick it so hard it tears apart. He wants to stab it repeatedly with scissors. He wants to—

“Sure.”

He doesn’t want to come at all, and Koori gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe Hyouga is up to it at all. But they gather their things and Hyouga slings the bag over his shoulder and he comes along, anyways. They pass the students, and each time they brush against his shoulders he twitches and holds back a wince.

When they dress up in the changing room, Itetsuki stares at him. His dark eyes follow the lines of Hyouga’s shoulder blades as if he wanted to see if his scars are really emotional or physical. He tries to pick him apart for some reason.

‘My father wanted me to check if there are any bruises’ he’s told Hyouga at some point.

_Are you even friends with me?_

There’s no validation for that thought. It disappears in his mind as fast as it appears, but it still makes something clench in his stomach. He’s not supposed to doubt Itetsuki, not when they’re close like this. There’s no reason. There isn’t—

It’s just that Hyouga doesn’t have control over himself lately. He shuts his locker harder than he intends to and the sound echoes. Ginjirou’s worried glance at Hyouga’s face tells him that he’s not even hiding the clouded look in his mind and he tries to backtrack with a hurried apology.

It doesn’t work.

Then, it gets worse. In a way. Gouenji does assist with the training, Fubuki right by his side with his calm smile and kind words, and they both compliment themselves so much Hyouga almost forgets the emotional turmoil inside and cracks a faint smile. It doesn’t last long, because then he starts to think that he’s actually intruding in their lives with his very being.

He feels angry, then he feels sad, and then, then there’s something in his lungs that chokes him and he’s brought back to reality when the ball Itetsuki sends his way hits him right in his stomach and he almost tumbles down.

“I’m fine,” he rasps out when the zig-zag shaped hair comes into his view and he drags himself up, swaying as he does, “I’m fine, sorry. I was distracted.”

Itetsuki huffs. Opens his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Gouenji shouting at them to hurry it up and not slack during practice. Fubuki’s eyes follow Hyouga’s movements ever since, even as he makes sure to not miss any ball coming his way then.

It should have ended fine. It should have, because Hyouga is not a coward, and his teammates are more of his family than Father and Mother ever were, but it takes one bad glance his way, mismatched pass of a ball and Kitaki’s yell and suddenly—suddenly—

Hyouga just _reacts._

The ball is blocked by his Avatar. Abounding Snowfall Saia raises her spear and aims it so it sends the ball in the opposite directions so hard it knocks Ginjirou off his feet, and the gust of wind that follows that move makes his own legs give in under him. Wide-eyed and terrified, he—

“Stop—“ he says, voice weak, “Stop, don’t—“

Saia doesn’t listen and her spear is aimed at Kitaki and it’s not—it’s not supposed to happen because Avatars aren’t _violent_ , they don’t _hurt_ people and they don’t have a will _of their own_ , and yet Saia is in front of him, and she—

She’s standing in a protective manner.

And it’s _his fault._

Because he got scared. Because Kitaki yelled and Hyouga panicked and now—

“Go away,” he trembles, cold all over, “Go away, I don’t need you, please—“

No one moves. Then again, it’s probably because Hyouga could have just moved and Saia would tear her spear into them, she would make them bleed, couldn’t she? They’re probably afraid of her. He’s the only one who can command her, the only one here who can bring out an Avatar.

“Leave,” he whispers and finally her spear lowers and her head turns and he locks his eyes with her, totally horrified, “—please.”

And she does, disappears in snowflakes and shattered ice. It’s the first time that she didn’t just soundlessly puffed out of existence. It’s the first time that Hyouga reacted so badly that it accidentally made her come out.

It’s the first time he mistook his teammate for a real danger.

“Yukimura—“ someone starts, probably Kitaki, but then there’s a sound of someone making a dash for him and he tries to, he tries so hard to move but he can’t and—

There’s a hand on him, and it’s warm. He’s so tired he doesn’t even flinch, but his vision is blurred anyways. He thinks for a moment that it’s Fubuki or Gouenji but when he tries to blink the tears away, it turns out that both adults are held back by something. With startling realization he sees that it’s Itetsuki crouching in front of him.

“I—“ he starts, but his breath hitches and he bites his lip, because he won’t cry in front of him, “I didn’t mean to. Is he okay? Did I hurt him? What about—?”

“They’re fine,” Itetsuki cuts him off, looking over him with critical eye, “Both of them,” Hyouga starts to nod, relieved, but then, the boy continues, “but you’re not. What the hell was that?”

“I just—“

He shakes his head and bites his tongue. He can’t say. He won’t say. Kitaki is standing right there, shocked and guilty even though it’s Hyouga who should be sorry, Hyouga who should be kneeling, bowing and asking for forgiveness.

So pathetic.

_What are you even doing here?_

“Yukimura,” Itetsuki starts and then pauses, thinking better of saying something. He glances behind him, and Hyouga can catch a glimpse of Kou staring down two adults with such ferociousness that he can’t bring himself to look away, “Hey, look at me, will ya?”

“What?”

“Eyes at me, dumbass,” Itetsuki says and finally, Hyouga does so, “There we go. Are you okay with getting up?”

“I didn’t break anything,” he says dully.

“My—Okay, smartass.” And without warning he hefts him up, one hand on Hyouga’s waist to stabilize him and another on his shoulder trying, and failing, to make Hyouga look at him again. “Are you okay now?”

His bones ache and his head is pounding with dark spots dancing in front of his eyes, but he nods, tries to take a step and nearly falls over if not for Itetsuki catching him. His head lands in the crock of his neck, eyes staring ahead but not seeing anything.

He’s exhausted.

And the warmth of another body is overwhelming.

“Please, tell me you’re not going to faint.”

“I’m not going to faint.”

There’s an amused huff and Itetsuki’s breath tickles Hyouga’s nape. He tries hard to not flinch and represses the urge to press closer at the same time.

“That doesn’t reassure me,” he admits.

“I’m tired,” he says and it’s no more than a mumble. Itetsuki stiffens, likely not expecting him to say anything more, and Hyouga doesn’t blame him at all. Still, he mumbles that and adds, “I’m so tired.”

“You can rest,” he tells him and it feels sincere even though Hyouga knows it’s not that kind of exhaustion and it cannot be fixed with sleep when it’s plagued with nightmares, “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

It sounds like a promise. He believes him.

He closes his eyes, slumping forwards even more.

“Yuki—Shit, Coach!”

* * *

When he comes back to, it’s because his head is not resting against the crock of Itetsuki’s neck but instead it’s on somebody’s chest. Before Hyouga’s brain fully wakes up he registers the sound of the steps and slight vibration that tells him he’s being carried by someone. The presence of someone he doesn’t recognize is enough to set him off, muscles tensing even though they scream in protest but then—

“Shh, it’s alright,” someone tells him from the right and he opens his eyes slightly to glance at that person, “We’re taking you home.”

Home—?

Where is home?

His hand clenches on the material of the jacket of the person who’s carrying him. It’s the only anchor he has right now and it’s poor excuse to focus on something else than the worry that’s written all over Fubuki’s face on his right.

“Don’t—“

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to—“ he breathes out and startles when the person adjusts their grip on him and the unfamiliar sensation of somebody’s gentle touch that doesn’t mean any harm makes him want to jump out of their arms— “Don’t take me there, I don’t—“

“We’re not taking you to your parents. Just to Fubuki’s home.”

Oh.

Oh, _that_ person.

“Gouenji—“

“Just go back to sleep,” he says and because it’s him that says it, Hyouga becomes more determined to stay awake, “Or else Itetsuki-kun may make good of his promise and tag along with us to make sure you fall back asleep.”

He blinks, drowsiness still clinging to him.

“Itetsuki?”

“He was quite adamant on making sure you’re okay,” Fubuki explains quietly, probably not wanting to speak too loudly in fear of aggravating Hyouga’s possible headache, “He’s probably going to come over when his classes end.”

“What about my classes?” he asks, but his eyes close without his consent anyways.

“I’ll take care of it,” Fubuki says, firmly and Hyouga has no choice but to cling to his words once again, “Just rest now.”

And between this and Gouenji’s grip on him, Hyouga does just that.

* * *

He wishes it were easier. Maybe if Hyouga was born to someone else, or maybe if he died, or maybe if he slept and never woke up – maybe all of it would become better. There wouldn’t be anyone to worry over him, there wouldn’t be anyone to push him and yell or ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist at all.

Pain. It has more than one form. It’s a snake around his ribs. It’s a fog inside his mind. It’s the numb ache and coldness in his bones. It’s everything Hyouga once wished to feel and everything he wishes now would disappear.

Life is not merciless like that. It never was. Hyouga was a fool to ever think—

“You’re not going to eat? You missed lunch today.”

The food looks delicious. It smells like nothing he’s ever tasted before. He’s wondering whether because it’s so good or because it was Gouenji who made it. Usually, Hyouga satisfies himself with simple dinner, just enough to keep him going. There’s occasional snack thrown in between the study time. Glass of water, bottles of it during practice. But never anything special – he simply never thought he’d deserve it.

The plate in front of him begs him to eat it. And yet, when he takes a bite, it tastes like nothing.

_Oh, how wonderful it would be to choke—_

“Itetsuki-kun should be here any moment,” someone says as Hyouga makes show of chewing slowly through his food, “because he wants to check on you. I told him you’re fine, but he doesn’t really listen to authority, does he?”

“Considering that he was on Fifth Sector’s side, I’d say it’s Yukimura’s influence.”

“Gouenji!”

“Cool,” Hyouga says, but he doesn’t mean it. _God,_ why is everything so blurred? Why is there something in his chest that he cannot claw out? Why is there stinging in his eyes but no tears come out? “I bet he’s going to tell me off for slacking again and—“

He trails off. He doesn’t remember what he was about to say.

He swallows the food. Picks up another bite. Chews.

His stomach turns.

“Hyouga,” it’s Fubuki’s voice now, that he recognizes, “perhaps you’d like something lighter? A snack, maybe? You can just eat rice, it’s fine.”

There should be some taste in his mouth, he realizes. It should be like eating leafs or burned toasts. Hell, anything would do, anything to fill the emptiness in his tummy. He should feel hungry, damn it. He _should._

His eyes sting even more. They feel drier than ever.

“I don’t want to,” he whispers.

He doesn’t want to look at Fubuki – he feels like all he can see is disappointment in everyone’s eyes, even though he knows, logically, that it’s not the case. It’s him trying to find the blame somewhere and if he can’t put it on someone, he takes it on himself. Self-pitying seems easier than trying to recover.

And fuck, _he’s tried._ Hasn’t he tried _enough_? When is all of it going to become enough?

“I’m tired,” he adds when the silence lingers, “Can I be excused?”

_Can I also be excused from living, too?_

It’s a silly thought. It’s not like he’s actively seeking death. It’s not like those thoughts where he wants to jump off something; where he wants to find out how falling down the stairs or off the rooftop feels like, it’s not like they _mean anything_. They’re there and it’s normal, but at the same time, _considering them_ isn’t actually good.

“Sure,” Gouenji is the one to say, “Go and take a nap. I will wake you up when Itetsuki-kun arrives.”

And so he goes, food not even half gone and his moves sluggish. He’s lucky he can get to the guest room by the muscle memory alone, or else he fears the furniture would get him. And by the time he gets there, he just crashes into pillows and—

And breathes.

Sleep doesn’t come.

* * *

By the time Itetsuki actually gets there, Hyouga is laying on his side, swathed into the blankets that laid on top of the bed, and there’s a certain empty look in his eyes that makes the other boy stop and sigh. For some reason, Itetsuki has a way of making his exasperation known in the least needed moments like this. Hyouga really could use some time alone.

Then again, he’s been alone for so long that maybe—

“I got my notes with me,” he says as a greeting dumping a folder onto the desk in the corner, “And I told Gouenji to fuck off, too.”

He would have smiled at that if he only had a strength and motivation. Instead of acknowledging the effort Itetsuki clearly put in for his sake, Hyouga only stares at him. He doesn’t even want to think about how he looks.

Miserable. Pathetic.

_Oh how I wish I could just—_

“Yeah,” Itetsuki drawls out, “you’re saving the thanks for later, gotcha. Now, move your ass and make some space for me.”

“Hm, what?”

“Oooh, he speaks,” is a sarcastic answer as Itetsuki slides out of his jacket and folds it on the edge of the bed, “Impossible.”

Hyouga closes his eyes. If everything goes his way, maybe Itetsuki will just get bored and leave. After all, he hasn’t been a very good friend to him lately. He hasn’t been good anything, to be completely honest. He doesn’t even know why anymore.

All he gets is that there’s cold. Whether it’s in his bones, his heart or his soul – he doesn’t know, but it’s freezing him from the outside out. If only the chill would stay out of his head, maybe then he would have mustered enough energy to get through the day without worrying anyone.

Just as he’s thinking about that, the bed dips under another weight behind him. He stills even more.

“Relax,” Itetsuki says, “It’s just me.”

Hyouga isn’t used to affection. He’s not used to kindness, either. His first instinct when Itetsuki’s arm winds up around his middle to pull him closer is to flinch away and get away from the burn the touch leaves on his skin. But then he stops, hand stretched out in instinct to slap him away, because it doesn’t hurt.

It _doesn’t_. It’s a little uncomfortable, because he’s not used to it and he hadn’t realized he’s so close to Itetsuki to attempt cuddling him, but there’s only slight burn through the fabric of his shirt and that’s that. Nothing else happens.

 _‘It’s just me_ ,’ he’s said.

 _Oh,_ Hyouga closes his eyes.

“Is it a bad day?”

He’s lucky Itetsuki is behind him, otherwise speaking would prove really difficult and embarrassing. With Hyouga looking straight ahead and the warmth spreading all around him, saying something is easier, less mortifying.

He can just act like it’s another day at his parents’ house.

“Don’t know,” his breath stutters out and Itetsuki’s arm tightens just a little bit, “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just—“ there’s a pause, “I just worry, you know? You haven’t been looking well those past few days. I’d even say a week passed with you looking so dead on your feet.”

He nuzzles into the pillow. He takes a deep breath, and then releases it slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats as if that made sense.

Silence. He grimaces. Of course, of course there’d come a time when someone would get so fed up with him because of something he’s said. Obviously, they don’t want to deal with a boy who’s tried so hard to stay afloat he forgot how to do anything else. How do you learn how to swim when you’re already deep into the water?

The ocean is big. It’s dark.

Freezing.

“My dad has days like that,” Itetsuki finally says and Hyouga’s eyes snap open, “My mom calls them depressive episodes. He’s had them ever since his cat died when he was a kid and they came and went as they pleased. Sometimes, they got triggered by something. Other times, they just appear.”

He finally brings his hand to his chest, trying to calm himself. Itetsuki’s breath tickles his neck again.

“He gets really unresponsive. Usually, he’s caring and attentive. He makes sure we know he loves us, but on days like this, he seems too weak to try. My mom takes him to his favorite places, she cooks him meals he’s had good memories with. But on really bad days, he just needs something to snap him back.”

There’s something coiling around his ribs. His eyes feel too dry.

“I know you, Yukimura,” Itetsuki whispers to him, arm loose around Hyouga’s middle as if he was waiting for him to turn and run away, “And I know this isn’t the same, but I want to be there for you. Back at practice, you—you looked terrified. Before, you looked so alone. I just—“ he takes a deep breath and something cracks in Hyouga’s chest at that, “I don’t want to feel so helpless again.”

 _Oh_.

“I—“ Hyouga chokes out, the care and the subtle hitch in Itetsuki’s voice too much for him, “I get so tired sometimes—“

Something tries to come out of his throat. He swallows it down and bites on it.

“And I don’t want anyone to know, because it’s a bother and it’s just so dumb,” he suddenly turns onto his back and opens his mouth to gasp it out, “because I should be over the whole parents thing. I should be fine, because I have Fubuki-senpai and I have Kou and I have—“ _you_ , goes unsaid, but Itetsuki’s arm is still somewhat around him and it feels too intimate to say, “—but I try so hard and they just don’t notice and sometimes having everyone around is not enough—“

He raises his hand up and covers his eyes with it. He bites his lip and tries to breathe.

Itetsuki stays quiet.

“They’re there. Everyone is, but it’s not _enough_ and it’s too much at the same time. I want them closer. I want—“ something stings his eyes and the hollow feeling in his chest threatens to suffocate him, “I want to come home and have someone care that I’m alive, because I can’t keep doing this on my own. I can’t— _I can’t_ —“

At last, tears slide down his cheeks. Their wetness makes something in his stomach clench uneasily and he tries to hide his face in his hands, but it’s not enough and it only smears them around. He keeps repeating apologies like it’s a mantra meant to save him, and apparently, apparently Itetsuki finally has had enough.

The arm that has been around his middle sneaks behind his back and in one smooth movement that only a speed-skater like him could manage, Itetsuki pulls him to his chest, letting him muffle his cries into his chest.

“I’m getting—I’m getting your shirt wet,” he tries to say, but once he’s started crying, it’s like he can’t stop.

_Stupid Itetsuki, with his stupid words and this warm—_

“Whatever,” is what he answers with, “as if I care about one shirt getting dirty. Get over yourself, Yukimura. Obviously, I don’t give a shit about that right now.”

“But—“ he presses closer anyways, hands winding in said shirt and gripping it, “That’s disgusting.”

“No more than that one time you spilled yogurt on my pants in the canteen and I had to get rid of them. Seriously, whose idea was it, again? Kitaki’s?”

Closing his eyes, he answers shakily, “Probably. He made me eat leaves from the school’s backyard once.”

Itetsuki snorts and the vibration in his chest is so nice Hyouga accidentally nuzzles into the shirt. If Itetsuki noticed, he hasn’t said anything. Instead, the arm that’s holding him close starts rubbing absent-minded circles into his back.

“Are you stupid? Why would you even do that?”

“Because it was a dare and he said that if I do that, he will get me tickets for that violinist that had a concert here.”

“Had you asked me, I would have gotten them for you for free,” Itetsuki suddenly says and Hyouga stills, with his tears frozen on his cheeks, with another kind of warmth spreading on them, “Akiko Suwanai, wasn’t it? You liked her.”

“N-not her. I mean I did, just—I meant her music.”

Oh, why can’t he just get swallowed by the floor? He must be all red by this point. First avoiding him and everyone else, wallowing in self-pity, then being so caught up in his head that just speaking was hard, and then crying in his arms and now this?

Pathetic. Embarrassing. He hopes a car rides him over by the time they meet again.

Then, there’s weight at the top of his head.

“Is this okay? Sorry, I didn’t ask before.”

_He’s so close…_

“It’s fine,” he’s _this_ close to squeaking it out, “Are you okay with it?”

“I wouldn’t have started that if I weren’t,” is a dry reply, “but you mentioned you had issues with it before. I wasn’t sure if I didn’t overstep.”

“No, you—“ he clears his throat and lets his hair fall into his face, “—I thought we weren’t that close to, you know.”

“Cuddle? I cuddle with everyone.”

He tries hiding his face more from the view. It’s burning hot, shame long forgotten and replaced by embarrassment at being effected so easily. He really blames it on Itetsuki’s blunt and straightforward approach to everything.

‘ _Cuddle with everyone’._ How could he say something like this so—so—

“But yeah, I guess I don’t just go over to my Coach’s house for everyone just to cuddle,” Itetsuki muses, “But I didn’t really plan on cuddling you. Not everyone likes it. And the last few days, it seemed like the last thing you’d want. Hence why I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

“It’s—“ he’s kind of speechless. “It’s—it’s okay if it’s you.”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” he tries to backtrack a little, tense, “Not always, but it’s—I mean, I uh—“

He raises his hand to cover more of his face. God, he’s pathetic these days.

“It feels nice. To be held, sometimes. I think,” he breathes out, finally without a hitch in his throat, “I think I needed that. Sorry, it’s kind of—awkward to say, isn’t it? Just ignore me, I’m—“

Something is pressed to his hair. He realizes that it must have been Itetsuki’s lips kissing the crown of his head. Trying to focus on something else, Hyouga closes his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with him despite the too fast beat of his heart.

“I don’t mind,” Itetsuki says and Hyouga risks a glance at his face. There’s some redness on his neck, “As long as it helps, as long as you want it – I’m happy.”

_‘I’m happy’._

_Man_ , Hyouga thinks as the tiredness crashes more and more into him and opening his eyes seems like the most difficult job to do _, he really is amazing_.

Sleep overtakes him before he has a chance to thank him properly.


	2. 2. used to be so warm and peaceful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The importance of names; the tenderness - sometimes, it is kindness that kills you and not the violence.

After that, nothing changes.

Except—

“Where’s your lunch?”

“Bold of you to assume I eat lunch during lunch hours,” Hyouga answers, but judging by the look in Itetsuki’s eyes, it’s not the right answer, “Alright, fine. I don’t have one.”

Without a word, half of Itetsuki’s food is dumped onto another plate and slid over to him. Exasperated, Hyouga brings it closer and sighs, chin resting on his hand as he stares at him. Kou, who’s conveniently sitting next to Itetsuki, gives them a look.

“You’re acting like my mother.”

“Hardly. I actually care that you eat.”

And before Kou can gasp at that comment, Hyouga who’s grown a bit numb the last days, only digs into his food with a mumbled, “Ouch,” that’s more of a meaningless whisper than anything else.

It hasn’t been more than a day, in reality, since Itetsuki came over to Fubuki’s house and cuddled with him. The lingering warmth that he left behind was enough to get Hyouga through the rest of the day and sleep soundly during the night. If only his parents—

_Oh, how easy it would be to just—_

“Is it true?” Kou finally asks, seeing as Hyouga just continues to eat and Itetsuki follows his example, “That you’re better now?”

The lie is on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t be difficult to fool her and say it was just a bad day, because while Kou is smart, she also easily gets sidetracked by other things. He could just simply point out that she wore a different hairstyle that day and she’d get swept away explaining why that was.

But—

“I’m working on it,” he says between chewing, “Sorry for being off.”

Itetsuki glares at him. Hyouga glares back. They both go back to their food.

“I see,” her red eyes follow something behind Hyouga, something in the entrance of the cafeteria, “Is there anything we can do to help you?”

He freezes.

When she looks back to him, there’s no trace of deception on her face. It’s not like he thought there would be some, but his days have been chaotic and he’s had trouble admitting, even to himself, that his friends really care. Whatever he did to deserve them?

How could he ever repay that kindness?

“No, I’m…” he trails off, blinking at her. Kou waits patiently, and Itetsuki kicks him under the table, “Actually…”

He looks away for a moment, “My grades have dropped a little. You’re good at Japanese, right? If it wouldn’t be much problem, could you…?”

“Of course!” she almost jumps in excitement at both being asked to do something for him and to see him actually asking for help, “We could go over other subjects you feel bad in, too!”

“His maths sucks, apparently,” Itetsuki adds and Hyouga shoots him a look that’s torn between being insulted and surprised that he knows that, “I can tutor him as well.”

“No, I don’t want you to tutor me,” he mutters out, “You’re gonna yell at me.”

“I don’t yell.”

“Fine,” Hyouga looks away, mouth stuffed with food, “you only slightly raise your voice. It’s scary.”

As he opens his mouth to protest, Itetsuki pauses, looking thoughtful. He slowly chews on his rice, thinking it over, before he finally looks over to Kou, as if waiting for her to confirm that. With a sheepish smile, Kou slightly nods.

“You have this calm voice that’s really intimidating, Itetsuki-kun. It’s even worse than yelling.”

Defeated, Itetsuki only rolls his eyes. His plate shines empty as he stretches his arms above his head and he’s focusing on something on the ceiling, not even noticing the stare Hyouga gives him. Kou, however, suddenly giggles and Hyouga is forced to hastily look back to his own half-finished food.

Itetsuki glances at her, “What?”

“Nothing, really,” she just pats his arm, “How does next weekend sound for the study date?”

“Aren’t you still moving in with that uncle of yours? I bet the house is kind of in disarray, won’t we be in the way?” Hyouga asks, trying to will his blush away by eating mouthfuls of food from his own plate, “Maybe—“

“Ah.”

Both of them look towards Itetsuki, but the boy himself is more focused on Hyouga than Kou, which in itself isn’t all that weird, but at the same time, it makes Hyouga all too much aware of the fact that he’s stuffed his mouth full and looks like a hamster. And he won’t make the same mistake of swallowing all that at the same time, because he knows a choking hazard when he sees one.

Then, Itetsuki rests his chin on his hand, just like Hyouga, and says, “My dad’s at work, but my mom won’t mind if we come over and study. She may even make some snacks for us, if I ask nicely enough.”

“Itetsuki-kun, don’t use your mom like that!” Kou scolds, but Itetsuki only smiles, and—

_Ah, that’s a really, really kind smile._

(Not like the smirk the boy usually gives him. No. This is… This is—)

“And—“ here, there’s no mistaking it now, Itetsuki looks straight at him, “—you can stay the night, too, Yukimura.”

“Not fair. What about me?”

“Eh, you can stay too, Risuna,” he says as if that was a drag, but there’s an amused glint in his eye that she catches up pretty fast onto, “I may even let you take my fluffiest pillows.”

“That’s a lie,” she pouts, “I know you’re going to smother Yukimura-kun with all of them. No thanks, I will go back home and bungle myself with all the blankets I can find, and _then_ I will send you a picture so you can he jealous all you want.”

“Over blankets?”

“Better than pillows, duh.”

“You’re surprisingly competitive, Kou,” Hyouga notes, and takes a sip of his water, only to almost spit it out when Itetsuki speaks up.

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“I’m plenty peaceful, Itetsuki-san.”

The look he gives him makes Hyouga glare at him, but Kou only snorts. Betrayal of his two friends, what else will happen today? Maybe he will be granted some mercy and the day will end as it begun, but he’s not really counting on that happening.

 _My life,_ he muses as he finishes his food, _is full of plot twists and unstoppable speed-skater’s antics. I doubt there’s something calm awaiting me now._

* * *

His sketchbook is full of people he knows and faces he’d either rather forget or would never forgive himself if he did. The ice in his mother’s eyes and the unfeeling stare of his father. Kotone’s kind smile and delicate face features. Hyouga’s first homeroom teacher at his first school. Every time someone gets added on the page, his hand trembles and leaves uneven lines.

It hurts. Aches in ways he could never comprehend and that’s just by looking at them.

Exposure, the internet said, is a good way to overcome trauma. What a load of bullshit that was for him. It did shit. It meant nothing. People who were meant to protect him or love him or just be there for him – they turned their backs, sneered or ignored him.

Of course it would hurt. How could it not?

When they throw venomous words at him or when they turn blind eye – which one is worse? At some point, the lines blur so much he doesn’t even know. At one point, he wondered, why’s that? Why does everything make him feel so useless?

You’ve always been strong, his relatives would say. Only the strong will survive. What kind of biology theory that was? You were given this life, because you were strong enough to live it. Was that supposed to make up for all the pain he’s been through?

Was Hyouga supposed to look at that and nod, like an obedient little toy, that yeah, makes sense. And forgive that someone decided he’s strong enough to go through hell?

He doesn’t want that. And so, he ignores the first pages of his sketch book and buys himself some colored pencils. He makes sure his mother would never find them. He makes sure his father is never around to see them laying on his desk.

And when the night falls and Hyouga feels so terribly empty and alone, he takes it out.

And puts the pen on the blank page.

* * *

Itetsuki’s mom doesn’t talk much, but her lips are always curled into a familiar grin. It reminds him a lot about Itetsuki’s own shit-eating smirk and the way he moves – like he’s got a higher purpose in the universe and nothing, not even Gouenji’s familiar ‘motivating’ as he’s called kicking a ball at someone, can stop him – and Hyouga gets it. He gets it in a way he could never get the right maths formula on the paper.

He’s so painfully alike to her. And just as he realizes that—

“Itetsuki-san—“

And they both turn at that. Kou quickly hides her snicker in the sleeve of her new sweater. Hyouga, however, understands that he’s came across a big wall, perhaps bigger than what he can jump over.

“Ah,” Itetsuki says, and there’s something in his eye that makes him squirm, “Now you’ve done it, Yukimura.”

“It will be hard to distinguish who you’re calling,” Kou agrees seriously and somehow, Hyouga feels like he’s being played. It’s a betrayal of the highest order. How could both of them team up like this—? Better yet, when did the two of them become so familiar with each other?

Itetsuki’s mother just blinks before shaking her head. She leaves them in the hall, probably going to the kitchen by the sound of the fridge opening up just a little after that. He really hopes Itetsuki didn’t tell her to make them some extravagant snacks – but knowing the other boy, he did just that.

Then again, Itetsuki doesn’t really have to walk on egg shells around his own mother.

“Just call me Touma,” is an answer Itetsuki gives him as he shows them the way to his room, “We’re hardly strangers by now.”

“Eh? Not fair. You don’t let me call you that.” Kou complains half-heartedly as Hyouga proceeds to almost smash into the nearest wall, “Itetsuki-kun, don’t you think we’re close enough, too?”

“I’m not going to yell at you if you do,” he replies, letting them into his room and going in search of some pillows to put on the floor, “But, Risuna, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t asked earlier.”

“I was being mindful of your aggressive nature.”

“Do you think I’d kill you over that?”

Kou pretends to think about that, “You certainly don’t look like you’d complain if Yukimura-kun were to call you by your name.”

This is a play. This is a ploy. It is, by his standards, the dirtiest tactic they could both go for and Hyouga wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, leaving no pieces behind. He’s certainly lucky to be looking the other way when the blush threatens to appear on his cheeks again.

 _Get it together_ , he tells himself.

When the pillow smacks him in the face, Hyouga falls over with a huff onto the floor. Kou snorts.

“That’s mean,” Hyouga mutters out.

“You tell me that five times a day, Yukimura. It stopped bothering me.”

And then, because in the heat of the moment Hyouga tends to make bad decisions—

“Hey, if I’m to call you by your name, why won’t you do the same, huh?”

“Fine by me,” something stutters in his chest and Hyouga stills, “Now, stop choking my pillow – yes, it is my fluffiest pillow, Risuna, shut up – and come here, so we can finally get started.” And he adds, only when Hyouga drags himself up and plops down with his bag next to Kou, “Hyouga.”

Oh.

_Oh._

That—in his chest, that feeling, what is it? Warm slowly flooding his whole body, the slight hitch in his breath when he finds Itetsuki patiently gazing at him with his textbooks already open. Such little thing, it shouldn’t even matter, but—

Back then, it was just his mother using his name to scream and yell. Then, it was Fubuki on occasion. But none of those felt the same, and now it’s like—it’s like—

 _It feels nice,_ he decides, still clutching the pillow to his chest as he takes out his own books. _It feels, for a moment, like he’s glad I’m alive._

* * *

Truth be told, social interaction wasn’t always tiring. Hyouga never pegged himself for a person who had to hide hours and hours away from people to recharge. He kind of liked having them around most of the time, because that way he felt less alone – and yet, by the time they’re finished with all the schoolwork that piled up, Hyouga is exhausted.

The small smile on his face lasted just about as long as it did take for Kou to leave Itetsuki’s house. That is to say – it slipped as soon as he was left momentarily alone in the boy’s room as the other went to fetch something light for the late dinner.

 _Must be nice,_ he ends up thinking despite everything, _to be able to host your friends like this._

He couldn’t imagine letting anyone in his own room. He couldn’t even bear the thought of someone meeting his mother like this and being stared down by his father. After all, he knew how all that went the last time, when it was Fubuki and Gouenji. The memory of that night still makes something in his stomach twist.

It was—

“You still there?” comes the familiar voice, pulling him out of his thoughts, “Or have you went somewhere I can’t follow?”

“Where could I even go?” he asks, straightening out as Itetsuki places bowls next to him on the ground, “Oh, thanks.”

“Gotta make sure you eat something, you look like a stick,” the sentence strikes something in him, the tone he’s recalled someone else speak in not so long ago, and he almost grimaces at the memory despite himself, “and, if I don’t take care of you, who will?”

Hyouga takes the bowl and starts eating. It’s better than staring at Itetsuki and wonder if he really means it, if he won’t start thinking that Hyouga is just another bother; another burden to take out like a trash bag. He’s sure that’s what his parents think, either way.

The food, however, smells delicious. He wishes it didn’t taste so bland on his tongue.

Itetsuki hesitates, but then he stands up and before Hyouga can ask him what’s wrong, he slips right beside him, shoulders touching and legs slightly intertwined. Holding his own bowl in one hand, Itetsuki uses his other one to drag a blanket out of the wardrobe behind him and cover Hyouga with it.

The warmth is almost overwhelming.

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Itetsuki asks, already digging back into his food, but still keeping his eyes on Hyouga in case he’s misread the situation.

A little stunned, he just nods and goes back to eating himself. Somehow, the chill in his bones doesn’t lessen, but it’s more bearable. It no longer feels like the weight of the world is going to crush him with its pressure.

And when the bowls are empty and washed, and when the blanket stays on him even as Itetsuki brings out the futons to lay on the floor, Hyouga’s eyes flutter shut, like he can’t stand the light of the room. It’s not like he feels bad – it’s not like someone did something wrong, but there’s still a monster behind his ribcage, one that makes him wonder if taking Itetsuki’s kindness like this is right.

 _Everyone grows bored of me,_ he thinks, fingers clenching onto the material.

Kotone left with her husband, his parents couldn’t handle him wanting to be himself, and his formers schools hated who he was and made him leave. Being faced with so much support feels like a dream that could easily become a nightmare.

_How long will it take him to—_

“Do you want to stay up?” is a question he didn’t really expect to be asked, “Hyouga?”

Something stutters in his chest again. It flutters all around and settles right above his heart.

“What are you going to do?”

“My own homework,” he answers drily, already settling behind a small table they’ve worked at before with Kou, “but I can do it tomorrow if you want to sleep.”

“No, it’s—“ Hyouga finally peeks out more from under the blanket, “It’s okay. If you do your homework.”

Itetsuki eyes him critically, and immediately, Hyouga feels like he’s being judged by the far too dark shadows underneath his own eyes, and the way he blinks way too much to be considered lucid enough to stay awake. But truth be told, Hyouga doesn’t want him to turn the lights off and he doesn’t want to turn in his sleep again and again, because of the nightmares.

He doesn’t want that terrible, cruel loneliness to creep upon him again.

Then, Itetsuki brings one of the futons closer to himself and pats the space on it.

“If it doesn’t bother you, and I can see you’re dead tired, you can lay down here. I can turn on a smaller lamp instead, too, if the light bothers you too much and—“

He doesn’t even think about it when he moves, crossing the distance so fast it’s actually embarrassing and without hesitation, he throws himself under the covers, head moving so it’s almost touching Itetsuki’s thigh. It’s grounding. It’s also painfully mortifying how easy it is to do something like this in the presence of someone who saw him fall over on the even ground.

Itetsuki trails off, lips twitching into a grin, “Oh?”

“Shut up,” is what Hyouga mutters out, red on his cheeks so prominent he’d be lucky if the other missed it.

“Not saying anything,” Itetsuki answers, still amused even as he glances at his textbooks, pen in his hand, “Also. I’m on a first name basis with you. Won’t you do the same already so it stops being awkward?”

“You—“ Hyouga brings the covers up, “—are impossible. Do you have to bring that up?”

“I don’t know, _Hyouga_. Do I?” there’s a clicking noise and a sound of the pen writing something on the paper, before he speaks up again, “Well, it’s whatever. If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to. But I’d like to keep calling you Hyouga, either way, if you don’t mind.”

“You—“

Itetsuki starts writing again and Hyouga falls silent.

Whenever he calls him by his name, something sparks inside. A snake wriggles its way under his ribs, over his heart and settles in the crock of his neck, like a watching hawk ready to strike. It’s not bad, not really – but it’s scary nonetheless. He never knows if he’s going to screw something up, if one word will drive him away like it did with his parents.

So many things could go wrong. It feels like he’s going in circles.

On top of all that—

“I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

Itetsuki pauses in his writing, “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t know. This sentence slipped out and didn’t make sense even to him. At the same time, it felt right to say it. Hyouga cowers and runs away before stuff gets too bad, he almost never makes decisions that could make him responsible for something and he’s stuck in a never-ending loop between wanting to make his parents proud and hating them.

He reaches out his hand, watching it. He clenches it on the thin air.

“Just that. It would be easier if I were as confident as you or Kou.”

There’s a weak smile on Itetsuki’s face when Hyouga glances at him, “There are things I’m scared of doing myself, you know? I’m not fearless.”

The way he says it—

Something twists in Hyouga’s chest at that, body turning so he faces the boy more. He’s overcome by a sudden urge to sit up and hug him so fiercely he’d have trouble breathing. All to wipe of that longing expression on his face.

“Like what?” his voice almost shakes.

And just like that, he throws him a grin, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” When Hyouga narrows his eyes, Itetsuki lifts his hand and without any hesitation, drops it on top of Hyouga’s hair, fingers catching into the hair and stroking it. “I’m figuring that out. It doesn’t matter if you’re a coward as long as you’re trying to make up for it. Some words are too scary to say,” the fingers pause in their petting, but before Hyouga can ask, Itetsuki resumes, “so it’s not your fault you’re a coward.”

“That makes me sound so lame, you know.”

“Well. You’ve always been lame,” Itetsuki muses to himself, laughing when Hyouga swipes his hand at him, “Alright, alright. Let’s be lame together then, how about that?”

“You sound so cheesy,” he says as he closes his eyes, the movements on Itetsuki’s hand on his head soothing him to sleep, “Fine.”

There’s a minute of silence as the room fills with the sounds of pen writing and just as he’s about to slip into a dreamless sleep, he hears it. A whisper so fond, so soft that it takes him a full minute to register that it’s real.

“Goodnight, Hyouga.”

Somehow, the world is easier to breath in with those words.

* * *

There’s heat clinging to his body as he wakes up, and he’s certain that it’s not the blanket’s fault either. He tries to press closer, to chase after it, because he can feel the chill of the morning creeping in on him just as fast, and surprisingly so, he succeeds. It takes him a whole minute to realize that the welcoming warmth was someone’s arms around him, and the comfortable pillow was actually somebody’s chest.

It felt too nice to open his eyes. He feared it was another fever dream, a made up reality he’s found to deal with his own feelings. No matter how many times he’s pinched himself, though, nothing changed – it was still Itetsuki Touma cuddling him, and Hyouga still didn’t mind that.

He wondered if—

“You’re awake?”

He stilled, thought fading in his mind as he slowly raised his head, “No?”

A yawn, tightened grip on Hyouga’s waist, then, “Fair enough. Sorry, I must have grabbed you during the night. You were shivering.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, that makes sense. Hyouga does get cold easily. And Itetsuki stayed up late doing his homework, too. The hour usually makes people do stuff they’re usually reluctant do – like, for example, apparently, snuggling to your friend.

He tries to will the blush away.

“I can let go, if you want,” Itetsuki says, voice rough with sleep and immediately, Hyouga reaches out his hand and twists it into the boy’s shirt, desperate but slightly at loss at what to say. Patient as always, Itetsuki just settles back and closes his eyes again.

 _I don’t deserve this,_ he thinks, the thought making something clench in his stomach. _How could I ever repay him for this?_

“Hey,” he whispers to him and hears a quiet hum in response, “is it really okay for me to call you Touma?”

A snort, then, “You’re ridiculous, Hyouga. I’m literally holding you in my arms, in my room, and you’re worried if we’re on first name basis?”

“I mean—“

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous,” he shakes his head and Hyouga ducks his head to stare at his arm instead, marveling at the thought that it’s real, it’s really happening. He’s not dreaming, it’s no fever talking. It’s really all there for Hyouga to ask for it, “Yes. You can call me Touma.”

“And,” there’s a hitch in his voice, a hopeful note that he’s tried to muffle for so long, “—can we stay like this for a little longer?”

There’s no hesitation, not really even a slight doubt, when he answers, “For as long as you need to.”

 _It really is too good to be true,_ he thinks.

Even so, his eyes close again and he drifts off to the sound of Touma’s heartbeat. For some reason, it races nearly as fast as Hyouga’s own.

* * *

“I see that you’ve finally back in the land of the living?”

“Bold of you to assume I was alive to begin with,” Hyouga shoots back immediately. He’s stretching out right after practice, the sun above them shining orange, making everything look far more peaceful than Hyouga actually felt. Kitaki gives him a look that makes him glance away.

“I’m serious,” he kicks the ground, stuffing hands in the pockets of his jersey, “You… you didn’t look good for a while, you know?”

He does. He’s well aware of the still healing dark shadows under his eyes and the sluggish moves on the field. It’s not like Fubuki’s watchful stare and Gouenji’s pointed remarks let him forget that. At the same time, though, he’s also aware that the worst hasn’t really passed.

After all, if he has to come back to an unfeeling home – one of the sources of why he feels so bad – then how could he ever hope on becoming better?

“I’m sorry for. You know,” Hyouga says as he straightens out, “For freaking out on you back then.”

Kitaki clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. By now, Hyouga already knows that it’s not his fault, but rather the case of Kitaki being unable to handle overly emotional situations like this one. That’s something that makes Hyouga feel a little better about being awkward as well.

“Don’t—I—“ He tugs at his white hair and rolls his eyes, “Damn, Koori is better at this.”

“Um. It’s okay—“

“No, it’s not,” Kitaki takes a step towards him, hand reaching out and hesitating for a long time, before he makes up his mind and places it on Hyouga’s shoulder, “You’re a nice guy, Yukimura, but you’re allowed to be angry, too.”

“I don’t really have a reason to, do I?”

Kitaki glares at him, “I yelled at you, back there. It was an accident and all, but you just reacted to that. So—“

“How would you even…” Hyouga starts, then trails off, shaking his head, “It wasn’t your fault, seriously. I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness right now.”

“For what? For wanting to protect yourself?” Kitaki snorts, “Yukimura, come on. I’m the one in the wrong. Sure, yelling out and shouting is pretty normal during a match, but I should have taken note of the fact that you were tired and I don’t know, more jumpy than usual.”

“Why—?”

“Because Coach told us some stuff,” Kitaki says and it makes Hyouga pause, not understanding and perhaps not wanting to draw wrong conclusions this time, “You know? After he came back shortly he did the whole talk about how God’s Eden fucked kids over and that we should be more careful around those involved,” embarrassed, Kitaki looks at him, eyes clouded over, “and that includes you, Yukimura.”

His first thought was: _how did I miss an entire lecture about traumatic experience of God’s Eden at my own school?_ And his second was: _damn, I feel so stupid about ever doubting that he’s my friend_.

Not knowing how to answer to that, Hyouga raises his hand and awkwardly lets it rest on top of the fluffy white hair. Kitaki doesn’t even twitch at that.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” he says, clearing his throat when it tightens up, “Was Coach talking about it in detail or…?”

“No, just to not shout too much and make sudden movements. Also, absolutely no small spaces unless you ask that person. And to not be a dick. And—“

“Alright, I got it,” Hyouga cuts him off with a half-smile, letting his hand fall, “That’s cool of him. Kinda wish I was there for it.”

“I bet he did the whole speech exactly because you weren’t there.”

“I mean. Coach is a little shit, isn’t he?” Hyouga shrugs, just in time to feel a shadow fall over him. Blinking at it, he glances at Kitaki’s face and immediately feels resigned when he sees it twisted in sheepish grin, “Coach is behind me, am I right?”

Kitaki salutes him and then quickly takes off in the direction of the changing rooms, not even pausing to say goodbye to him. What a rude person indeed. And a coward at that. Fubuki isn’t even that scary when you get to know him.

Finally looking at the man behind him, Hyouga fights to not look away at the look he’s given.

“In my defense,” he starts bravely, “the conversation you heard was private, therefore you can’t hold me accountable for it.”

Fubuki raises an eyebrow, “Is that how it works now?”

He shrugs, and closes his eyes when the wind blows a bit too harshly in his face. Some of his hair gets stuck in his mouth and he makes a face at that, trying and failing to get it out. All while Fubuki looks on him with this fond stare that Hyouga started to associate with warmth and Nana.

After a minute of Hyouga fighting with himself, Fubuki speaks up again, “How are things at home?”

Oh.

Hyouga’s smile dims and he shrugs once again. The wind blows a bit harder as he starts walking back to the gym inside. After a second, Fubuki follows him, still patiently waiting for an answer he knows won’t really come. Briefly, Hyouga wonders where Gouenji has gone this time. Maybe if he were there, Hyouga could somehow divert his attention to the other man. It usually worked with his father for the most part.

“Hyouga?” Fubuki says again, gently, “Is everything okay?”

No, is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies just as quickly. What is he even supposed to say? That he’s thought of ending it all not so long ago, because the apathy around his house started to be too much to bear? That he’s cried himself to sleep because at least that way he could fall asleep and wake up without nightmares? That no matter what he does, he still feels like he’s not enough for anybody?

It’s getting better, yes – but Hyouga would be a fool to think that it means all those thoughts get miraculously deleted.

Some days are worst than others.

Some days it’s like Hyouga’s back at square one and nothing can change that. Like there’s still shadow of his mother over him, and his father’s words don’t stop echoing in his mind. It feels like there’s no Fubuki or Miyuki, and there’s just snow all around and there’s a hollow space inside his chest.

“I feel like—“ he starts, hesitating and stopping only short of the door to the gym in front of him, “Sometimes I feel like I don’t even want to be here.”

Fubuki stills. Hyouga doesn’t dare to look at him, hand gripping the knob of the door.

“It would be easier. To give up, I mean,” his voice sounds oddly calm, but that’s only because he restrains himself from cringing away with his last ounce of will, “I wouldn’t have to work hard on who I am, I wouldn’t wake up in cold sweat thinking my mother is there to punish me, I wouldn’t have to think of God’s Eden and all the things that keep popping up in my mind.”

When he glances at the man, Fubuki’s hand is slightly extended to him, but it looks like he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries and Hyouga doesn’t have a heart to tell him that his hugs are the last thing he needs right now. Even if he craves the contact, even if the burning of his skin begs him to have more and more of it in hopes of it finally becoming a norm – he knows better than to ask.

For some reason, that reminds him of the time when he taught him Eternal Blizzard.

“I’m here, though,” Hyouga looks back to the door, opening it, “I’m not going anywhere, but sometimes, I wonder, what would have happened if you didn’t come back.”

He doesn’t have to specify what even he refers to. The slight horror and sick realization he sees mirrored in glass of the door is enough to make him push through the door and get in. He doesn’t wait for any reply either, not when he sees Gouenji coming out from the corridor that leads to the lounge.

He lingers next to the changing room for long enough to see Gouenji’s worried glance at Fubuki’s conflicted expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waking up in the morning will prove to be difficult that's for sure


	3. 3. if I try I’ll shine maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can learn. Whatever it is, whoever it is - as long as you try, you can learn. For every failure leads a path to a success in the future, be it small or big, meaningful or meaningless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I divided this work in uneven chapters, like first one has around 7k words, the next has 5k, and this one has around 3k and this bugs me, but I will leave it as it is, because I really, Really need some sleep.

His sketchbook is filled with pictures.

At first, he tried to do flowers, the colorful ones that grow in Miyuki’s garden, but it felt like a cheerful lie that made its place in his mind. He didn’t feel happy sketching them – therefore it felt like his mother’s icy glare and his father’s cutting words.

Then, he tried objects. Like his backpack, like his window – but each time he was reminded of sitting by his desk, hand trembling, raw and red after being hit too much with a ruler. He stopped soon after.

He kind of hates those drawings. He kind of dislikes them. He kind of feels like he’s going in circles. You want something, you’re happy for something – but the moment you realize how easily it could be taken away, you stop and think what’s the point.

What if he improves?

What if he wins?

What if he gets a job, load of money, and have an empty love of his parents at his disposal? What’s all that if not a false sense of security that would disappear as soon as he’d quit it?

But he thinks of Kou. Her red, fierce looking eyes and her blonde, shining hair. Her cheerful smile he hated once upon a time, because – _how can you be so happy? Do you not feel the crushing pressure of living?_ Hyouga thinks of this hatred a lot, and then he’s—

Then he’s wondering.

_How did I grow to like her?_

_How did I stop trying to pick apart her reason for smiling_?

He picks up his pencil and sets it on the blank page.

And then, he draws.

* * *

“There was once a poet who spoke of love despite not loving anyone,” Ginjirou says off-handedly, holding the soccer ball in his hands, “I wonder why.”

Hyouga blinks. Itetsu— _Touma_ raises an eyebrow.

The rest of the team just sighs.

“What?” Ginjirou asks, defensively, “Isn’t that interesting?”

“No, I mean—Sure,” Kitaki drawls out, “But what does that have to do with soccer? We’re in the middle of practicing it, not your poetry.”

Then, Koori cuts in, “Wait, wait, let him speak.”

“Oh?” There’s another voice and Hyouga glances behind him just in time to see Gouenji take a seat on the bench, legs crossed, all while the expression on his face tells them all that he’s intrigued in the topic himself, “Do speak, Ginjirou. Perhaps a break will do you all good.”

Most of their teammates dispersed, clearly not thinking the same. Fubuki just passing them by with some papers in his hands just sends them a wave as a goodbye. Obviously, the practice wouldn’t resume after that.

Hyouga mentally sighs. At least Ginjirou looks delighted to have some audience.

“Well?” Touma encourages, leaning against Hyouga slightly. Without thinking, Hyouga adjusts his own posture so they both don’t fall over, “A poet who spoke of love despite not knowing it?”

“Yes!” Ginjirou nods, and lifts his hands. He fidgets with them for a short while, looking at all of them taking seats on the floor or the benches, and then he starts, “They weren’t a very well-known poet. In fact, it’s probable that their poems were released not because they wanted them to be published, but because someone just found them laying around. And because of that, all were led to believe that their poems were written straight from the heart.”

He pauses, searching for right phrases. Fubuki silently itches closer until he’s sitting next to Gouenji.

“Some lines, I believe, were written like this: _I have forsaken my heart, closed my eyes and breathed out words/I love you, but my heart couldn’t have been colder at that moment/for if you speak of love not knowing it, all will become wretched._ ” Ginjirou clears his throat, “And yet, despite that, people gave them the name of a Frozen-Hearted Author.”

“I mean,” Kitaki interjects, “You know, I’m no expert, but it seems the dude just wrote whatever they felt like writing at the moment, so—“

“Yeah, but hey,” Koori also adds, leaning slightly forwards, “I kinda feel like they’ve gone around it backwards? I don’t know, man, but they’re literally saying stuff about love as if—oh. Wait, okay I get it, nevermind.”

Ginjirou blinks, then looks to Touma. Touma just hums, but Hyouga blurts out, “It sounds like they were loved so much they felt like their own feelings weren’t equal to that, hence the whole thing sounding like they didn’t know love and yet spoke of it so often.”

Kou, who was quietly playing with her water bottle, nods, “ _My heart couldn’t have been colder at that moment._ That’s what they said, but with how the lines are aligned, it’s more like the moment someone told them that they love them, they realized how little they thought of their own love for that person. It that moment, they became cold because they felt as if the other’s love was stronger. Therefore, they were the impostor. The one who speaks of love despite not knowing it, that’s not right, I think—“

Touma glances at Hyouga.

“—I think they loved so much the thought of being loved led them to believe that they’d destroy everything.” And suddenly, she blushes, “Ah, but I didn’t read the whole poem. Ginjirou-kun, I’m probably overthinking it.”

Kitaki just stares at her, before Koori nudges him and he clears his throat, “Um, to be fair, it sounds neat.”

“Oh my, you are just hopeless.”

“Shut up, Itsuki.”

Ginjirou thoughtfully mumbles to himself. At this point, Hyouga was sure the boy would get lost in his world again. Lately, poetry was all he could speak of. When this passion got released? He has no idea, but he knows, the second Ginjirou turns to Gouenji, that the topic won’t be dropped anytime soon.

He lifts his eyes at Touma, gently poking him. Immediately, the other’s attention shifts to him.

“I think I’ve had enough,” he whispers.

Touma narrows his eyes, then glances at Ginjirou immersed with his conversation with Gouenji and Fubuki. A grimace shows up on his face and without missing a beat, he grabs Hyouga’s arm and tugs him towards himself. Together, they quietly sneak out of the gym and into the locker room.

Once they’re in, Hyouga breathes out, taking off his shirt, “I am never, ever letting Ginjirou rant about poetry again.”

When Touma doesn’t say anything for a while, Hyouga stills, with his hands searching for his shirt in the locker.

“What are those?” At last, a voice reaches him.

Suddenly, Hyouga doesn’t dare to move. Instead, he opts for quickly pulling over his shirt and going about changing his shorts. Without a pause, he says, “What? My muscles? I do work out, you know?” It’s a poor deflection on his part, he knows, but—

Those faded marks on his back—well. He doesn’t really want to remember. He doesn’t want to know how Touma would react to knowing how they dealt punishment in God’s Eden, either.

When he’s dressed, he looks at him. There’s something in those black eyes that makes him pause.

“Touma?”

“Yeah,” his voice is strained, that one is for sure. Hyouga grits his teeth a little at that, “Yeah, you’re ripped, obviously that’s why I’ve been staring. It definitely has nothing to do with those scars that look like you’ve been whipped.”

“Don’t—“

An irritated sigh. Impatient huff. Had Hyouga met Touma earlier in his life, maybe he wouldn’t get so defensive. Maybe he would have told the boy the truth. He wouldn’t feel the need to hide, but those scars, they’re not—

They’re not nice.

They’re not really all that visible. One has to really, really look for them to spot them. And Touma stands close to him, so close Hyouga looks him straight in the eye and their breaths mingle. If he raised his hands, he could cup Touma’s face in them.

“Hyouga,” his voice is pained, so full of despair despite the scars being Hyouga’s, “Please.”

_Please, let me in. Please, let me help._

~~Please, let me love you.~~

His own breath catches and suddenly, he finds himself unable to look away. Touma’s eyes, ones he thought of as black and empty once, were more like a void pulling him in and yet, yet they were so full of feeling, so full of something he’s scared of naming. They lock on Hyouga like he’s the most precious person in the whole universe.

_‘As long as it helps, as long as you want it – I’m happy.’_

Who in their right state of mind tells someone this? How can Hyouga—

“Fifth Sector,” he blurts out and Touma’s eyes widen, disbelieving, “God’s Eden. It was—it was just that. I’m over it.”

_I’m not._

A memory. Gouenji and Fubuki sitting at the dinner table with his parents. The sick realization that his mother knew what Fifth Sector was doing and she allowed him to go despite her hating soccer. The knowledge that she wanted him broken so much, wanted him to obey them, that she was willing to let him go.

Image of Saia, born of grief. Image of Hyouga’s dull eyes staring back at him.

_‘He spoke of love despite not knowing it.’_

“No, you—“ Touma takes another step and then, they’re so close their foreheads are touching. Frozen, Hyouga lets him. “You shouldn’t be ‘over it’, Hyouga. You’re allowed to feel angry or, shit, I don’t know. That’s just messed up.”

“Life usually is,” he whispers and blinks, “Listen, this moment is touching and all, but,” he takes a deep breath and lifts his head just a little bit, just enough to make Touma open his own eyes, “we’re really close, you know.”

Touma, apparently, knows. His cheeks are dusted in light pink, but he refuses to move. Instead, “can I hug you?” makes itself out of his mouth.

_‘For as long as you need to.’_

Ah.

This feeling.

Hyouga closes his eyes and nods. Touma doesn’t even hesitate, arms immediately embracing him and head resting in the crock of Hyouga’s neck. They’re hot and sweaty from practice, but for some reason, this warmth, this security – Hyouga doesn’t want to give them up.

He thinks of the page in his sketchbook. One he could never get right. Countless of sketches and colorings. Pencils broken in two. Paper wrinkled and tossed aside.

_How do I name this feeling? How do I put it in words?_

He could never, instead he put the pencil to the page and tried to draw it instead. It didn’t make sense, back then, but—

“Don’t hide from me,” Touma says, but it feels like a plea muffled by Hyouga’s shirt, “Get angry, cry, vent, but don’t hide it. Please, I just—“

This scene is ridiculous enough. Two boys escaping the poetry session with their teammates and hugging it out in the locker room. One of them is trembling – he thinks it’s Touma, but his own hands shake quite a lot as he fists them in the other’s shirt.

“I just want to be there for you. I’d do—“ a hitch, one that has Hyouga’s heart shattering and gluing itself back together, “I’d do anything, if you’d ask me.”

Anything.

This feeling, it’s—

Hyouga presses even closer. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and in this little room, it feels easier to breathe, “I know.”

‘ _I have forsaken my heart, closed my eyes and breathed out words:’_

In Touma’s embrace, Hyouga can only close his eyes.

_‘I love you.’_

Everything else, it comes after.

* * *

_And in the sketchbook, a drawing is made._

_Of a boy born of lightning, with eyes made of black void._

_And his heart—_

_It grew gold along the dirt._

* * *

Miyuki’s coconut cookies are to die for, that is a fact he knew for a long, long time. It took him a while to figure out why, after all – she’s not the only one whose cookies he’s tasted. And yet, hers were the only one he could ever remember with as smile on his face.

Today, he realized why.

“I always bake when I miss my brother,” she’s told him at some point, eyes looking far away and Hyouga is struck, then, by how often she actually bakes, “He went to Hakuren as well.”

When you miss something, you feel it in your heart. It’s an ache that won’t go away when you take pills for it; it’s a pain no one is able to see, because there’s no scar and no wound; it’s longing for something that’s not there, even though you want it so, so much.

It’s love.

“He went abroad,” she tells him as he munches on a cookie, “and he’s very successful. But that doesn’t mean I like it. It gets hard without having him here.”

Hokkaido’s winters are cold, but that’s nothing compared to the frozen stone one can have missing someone. It’s only then that he realizes the cookies he was happily munching on were made in an act of kindness – out of love that one person cannot feel anymore, because they’re too far.

“I guess that is hard,” Touma by his side says and for a moment, Hyouga looks at him, “At least you got Coach Fubuki and the Holy Emperor to feed now.”

“I’ve told you to not call me that,” Gouenji speaks and for a moment, it seems that Touma is about to say something not very nice, but he decides against it when he sees Fubuki’s gaze on him. Instead, he shrugs at them and moves a plate with cookies their way, “I’m not fond of that title.”

Hyouga glances between them.

“Yes, yes,” Touma says, happily chewing on his piece of cookie. Gouenji on the couch in front of them narrows his eyes, “Gotcha.”

Here’s the thing:

Itetsuki Touma is an overprotective little shit.

And he’s petty to a fault.

And—

“Don’t antagonize the Holy Emperor,” Hyouga mutters out anyways, and Touma only glances at him, his eyes catching on his shirt for a moment too long for him to consider it a casual glance, “That’s rude.”

“Aren’t you doing the same thing?” Miyuki asks, drinking her tea.

“Why? Does it displease you, lover?”

_WhatthefuckwhatthefuckTouma—_

There’s a choking noise and Gouenji quietly pats Fubuki’s back as the man looks at Touma and Hyouga with wide-eyed stare. Miyuki subtly wipes her mouth after she spit some of the tea out at the sudden news. All while Hyouga tries to will away the red on his cheeks.

And he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind:

“Isn’t that just a posh way of saying ‘you mad, bro?’”

Touma only raises an eyebrow. Hastily, Hyouga takes another cookie and bites on it to busy himself with something else than staring at him. And he realizes, then, how it all looks like. With him half leaning into Touma’s side, all cozy and comfortable while his mentor slash parental figure is sitting perplexed with his own boyfriend who just happened to be a former Holy Emperor that was indirectly a reason Hyouga got into Fifth Sector.

Oh. Oh, he doesn’t even want to say anything about Miyuki trying to compose herself.

And then, it hits him. The most important thing.

“Wait, are we together?”

Touma blinks, “Aren’t we?”

And then, helpfully, Gouenji adds, “I thought you two were a thing for a month or so now.”

“You’re dating?!” Fubuki finally gathers enough air to exclaim after almost suffocating on a piece of cookie.

“Finally,” Miyuki mutters out.

Hyouga ends up putting his plate of cookies on the table in fear of meeting the same fate as Fubuki, and he leans away to properly look at the other. For someone who just called him his ‘lover’ – his, Hyouga’s heart whispers, he called you his lover – Touma looks terribly proud of himself, as if that didn’t come out of blue.

Seeing Hyouga’s hesitance, though, Touma wavers and sighs, “If you want to. That is.”

Hyouga’s mouth refused to work. The other continues, “I realize we didn’t really do all the candles and roses, but I didn’t really think I need to officially ask you out. Since we cuddle and— _mphf!”_ Hyouga covers his mouth with his hand, eyes darting between him and Fubuki who just—

Well.

Fubuki certainly looked shocked. It’s only thanks to Gouenji that he manages to stop gawking at them.

“Of course, you have to ask me out!” he hisses out, mortified, “How else am I supposed to know?”

Still being muffled, Touma levels him with unimpressed stare. If Kou were there, she’d die laughing. Scratch that, she’d be rolling on the ground, laughing and Hyouga would lay down with hysteric laughter himself, because how, why and when—

Except, Touma is right.

They were already acting like a couple. They were already flirting and leaving hints all over, but Hyouga was too preoccupied with his sickened mind, with poisonous thoughts and tired, exhausted body that he hasn’t noticed.

He hasn’t noticed _a thing—_

Gently taking Hyouga’s hand away from his face, Touma gazes at him, fond. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that Fubuki is led away by Gouenji outside and Miyuki wordlessly sends Touma thumbs up as she ushers the three of them to the garden. Finally alone, Touma interlaces their fingers together and squeezes.

Something painfully warm bubbles in Hyouga’s chest.

“I apologize,” he says sincerely and Hyouga knows he means it like he knows the weather in Hokkaido is unpredictable, “It seems I went about it backwards.”

“You think?” he almost squeaks out, panicked.

_I haven’t noticed—_

_Because I was so busy—So ignorant—How long has he—_

~~How long has he loved me like I love him?~~

“You don’t have to agree,” there’s a spark of something in his eyes that has Hyouga leaning forwards, “But it’s been months. And a week since you’ve told me about God’s Eden. And a few days since that where I saw you finally smile freely, and—“ pink dusts his cheeks but he holds Hyouga’s anxious gaze with his calm one, “Maybe this is not the right time to speak of this, maybe it’s too soon, but if I waited too long, then I,” he trails off, and lets out an embarrassed huff of laughter.

“Touma—“

“I was afraid you’d go somewhere I couldn’t follow,” he admits quietly.

Silence overcomes them. Hyouga can’t deal with it, he can’t deal with the pressure of Touma nervously tracing patterns on his hands, or the way he shifts on his seat like he’s ready to bolt the second Hyouga rejects him.

Because that’s what this is about.

Rejection. He’s prepared for it. Hyouga sees it in the tense lines of his shoulders, the hesitant touch of his thumbs on Hyouga’s skin. He’s scared as much as Hyouga is; maybe even more.

“Loving me,” Hyouga starts, voice choked up and strained and immediately, Touma looks back at him, “it’s a rotten work.”

His mother’s cold embrace. His father’s icy gaze and scalding punishments. Schools kicking him out, making him move around the towns. God’s Eden teachers and the tiny, closed spaces that terrified him. Kotone leaning everything behind after letting him see the silver lining.

Pages in the sketchbook, blank or ripped apart.

 _ ~~I want to die, I want to die~~ —_Thoughts repeated in mad circles, never making anything better, never making anything better, the hopelessness, the need to touch, to have, to be _held._ Thinking what’s the point in a world that grows on roots and burns them; in a land that’s frozen over with words that cut through his heart.

 _You can’t love me_ , his eyes seem to say, but there’s something inside of his chest when Touma shifts closer, takes their joined hands up to his lips and kisses them.

And quietly, but lovingly, he answers a question that was never asked, “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

 _I can,_ this black void says, but despite the darkness, it shines gold.

And later. Much later, there’s a sketchbook.

One he bought himself, with pencil right next to it and scattered pages all around.

Of people’s smiles, their eyes, their hands. Of Hyouga’s perceptions of them, the things that made him love them, made them be closer to him. Things that he collected over time in the cold haze, ones that his mother or father could never take away.

And in the middle, amongst the countless of pages wrinkled and smudged where lines just wouldn’t work, there’s a full drawing.

A boy with lightning in his heart, whose black eyes shone like the moon.

Because—

_‘Someone’s worth? Isn’t it obvious?’_

Maybe he was a boy born running and he was nothing to himself, nothing precious to keep alive and well; maybe he didn’t know how to love himself or the world like he should, but—

_‘It starts when you love yourself, and ends when you stop. Truth be told, whatever ‘worth’ you see in yourself will always be different than the ‘worth’ someone may place on you.’_

He could learn to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it seem rushed? Maybe. Is it bad? Perhaps. Should I add some scenes so it makes more sense instead of jumping around? Absolutely. But there are works in which cases you don't have anything else do add, and it's chaotic, and makes sense to select few, but they're also the works that you write on an impulse, where you just want to get the whole feeling out before it flickers away. 
> 
> And maybe it doesn't solve any problems Hyouga may have. Maybe I missed some stuff. Maybe. 
> 
> But for every end, you have a beginning. And every middle has its start, therefore I can finish it up and polish it when I don't feel like I'm about to faint from exhaustion.

**Author's Note:**

> Lu, if you're reading this, let it be known that I love you and most of this work has been inspired by whatever stuff we both came up with. MoMo, if you're reading this, let it be known that I'm crashing into my bed soon after because I have online classes, but i WILL get back to you as soon as possible after. 
> 
> To everyone else, whoever you are: if you read this far, nice. There's two or three chapters more of this suffering. Good luck. 
> 
> (Typing this all out past midnight, whatever mistakes and errors and typos are made, pls forgive me)


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